


Frame that Shit and Sell it

by Kingkiwi



Series: Writers [2]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coincidences, Crimes & Criminals, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Graffiti, Jungkook the sidekick, M/M, Rivalry, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingkiwi/pseuds/Kingkiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hoseok’s newest piece of graffiti is painted over by another artist, he’s not going to sit quietly and take it.  </p><p>“It’s 6:00 p.m. on a Wednesday for the love of God, and Hoseok finds himself crammed into a wicker chair out front of some God-forsaken frilly café that Jungkook of all people has dragged him to. The patio lights are on and they’re fucking with his colors. The sketchbook flopped out on the table has a two-page spread of the warehouse wall drawn out in colored pencil.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frame that Shit and Sell it

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow this ended up in present tense?
> 
> This oneshot is standalone, but exists in the same universe as Through the Grapevine. There's a quick reference to that story at the end, though :)

_J-HOPE._

_~~J-~~ NOPE._

***

_HOPE IS HERE._

_HOPE IS ~~HERE~~ DEAD._

“Son of a bitch!” Hoseok cries, head tilted back and hands on his hips. 

Jungkook, crouching on the loading dock behind him, arms limp, classic thug, just laughs. “Sure got you, didn’t he?”

 _HERE_ is crossed out, the black paint thick, dripping down the wall and dried into hard beads. _DEAD_ is a slew of cool colors, icy highlights making it pop.

“It’s a nice piece,” Jungkook offers, rolling a cigarette between practiced fingers.

Hoseok snorts. Who needs enemies with friends like his? “Yeah, it’d be nicer if it were on a different wall. I’m not gonna let this guy keep walking all over me.”

Jungkook lights up. “You’re literally the only person who cares,” he informs his friend, blowing a bluish stream of smoke into the still afternoon air.

“Damn right I do,” Hoseok says. He yanks his hat around backwards. “You can ditch out if you have better things to do.” He’s only half serious. It’s kind of nice to have someone with him, especially if they’ll double as a lookout. Jungkook really doesn’t have anything better to do anyway.

A moment of silence.

“Naw.” A long drag. “Gotta see what you put on top of this guy’s shit.” Jungkook smiles. “Make him cry.”

Hoseok laughs. “Got it.” He tugs his bandana up over his nose and mouth. “Toss me the black, will ya?”

Jungkook obliges and his aim is good. Soon, the little cobbled alley, like a crooked piece of string snaking behind the row of warehouses, fills with the suffocating smell of paint. 

***

Hoseok turns a corner in the hardware store, eyes on the shelves, trying to find the paint. It’s not his usual store, but he remembers to stop somewhere on the way home from work to pick up another can of black and anything else that catches his eye. He needs to check on the warehouse wall tonight, see if he got painted over again. It already happened twice and Hoseok is beginning to suspect it’s the same person each time. 

He actually can’t complain too much because whoever’s covering his work is damn good. He almost feels bad about blacking out that last one. Almost. It was with a mellow sense of regret and an overwhelming feeling of glee that he whipped out his spray paint cans and went to work, Jungkook an apathetic presence behind him. For a guy who insists he doesn’t care, he shows up an awful lot when Hoseok gets down to it. 

It takes Hoseok way too long to realize that spray paint is in the next aisle over. He turns the corner and immediately slams into someone. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he says, staggering. 

The slam-ee smiles and straightens his jacket. He’s gotta be around Hoseok’s age, but only a little bit taller, and his black jacket is covered in paint splatters. 

Writer? 

Sure enough, there are at least six cans of various colors in a basket dangling from his arm. He’s got the look of someone quick and daring. “No problem, man. I wasn’t watching.”

“Got a big project going?” Hoseok asks knowingly, eyebrow ticked up. If this guy isn’t a fellow graffiti menace, he’ll eat his hat. 

“Oh yeah,” the guy smirks. He gives the basket a rattle. “It’s a contest and I don’t aim to lose.” 

And there’s the attitude. Well, that’s what it takes, Hoseok supposes. He offers a nod and sidles by. “Good luck.”

“You too. Look sharp,” the guy chuckles, walking away. 

As Hoseok mulls over his choices (and damn this store doesn’t have what he usually gets, but then again, it’s a hardware store) and kind of wishes that he could see the other guy’s work. It’s not like he would know it even if he stumbled on it, but it would be nice. Maybe he’d be able to make a friend who shows a bigger interest in his work than smoking and making wise-cracks. Hoseok snags two cans of Rustoleum from the shelf and stalks to the cashier. 

This is probably the only time that Hoseok offhandedly hopes he runs into someone in an alley. 

***

Two weeks later, it’s turned into an all-out war. 

Hoseok morphs _HOPE IS DEAD_ into _YOU’RE DEAD_ with some creative thinking and a rotting zombie chewing on the new letters. In the span of two days, the zombie is a cop with a stop sign standing next to _DEAD END_. The _“DEAD”_ is painted over with cool colors, mostly blues with a touch of purple, but none of the original design is lost. The same guy (who Hoseok privately dubs as his nemesis) is back and apparently has a favorite color palette. _“END”_ is all reds and oranges, though, fiery and commanding.

Yeah right. You couldn’t pay Hoseok to stop now. 

Now the cop is holding a bouquet of balloons, one escaping into a starry, velvet sky: _IT NEVER ENDS_. Hoseok is actually pretty proud of that one despite Jungkook’s unwelcome comments about being a giant sap. 

His free time is dwindling, as is the cash in his wallet. This is the most paint he’s been through, not quite ever, but he’s tripping over empty cans in his living room. Not to mention the brain power devoted to this venture has ratcheted up. He can’t even go off the cuff anymore. 

It’s 6:00 p.m. on a Wednesday for the love of God, and Hoseok finds himself crammed into a wicker chair out front of some God-forsaken frilly café that Jungkook of all people has dragged him to. The patio lights are on and they’re fucking with his colors. The sketchbook flopped out on the table has a two-page spread of the warehouse wall drawn out in colored pencil. It doesn’t look quite right because Hoseok only has an 8-pack, but he makes it work. His officer with balloons and _IT NEVER ENDS_ were quickly transformed overnight. 

Honestly, the guy must be stalking him, leaping on the wall before the paint’s dry. 

The latest change transformed the cop’s face into a deeply shadowed skull. The balloons are black, each with a kind-looking face in the center, but stiff and plastic; they’re like some kind of sick party favor, or masks, ready to be plucked from their strings and jammed over the skull. 

_IT NEVER ENDS_ now reads _PRETENDERS_. And damn, but Hoseok doesn’t know what to do with this. It’s harshly political and dark. Yeah, the _HOPE IS DEAD_ was pretty bleak, but this is rough. He’s not sure how he’s gonna alter it without starting from freaking scratch. One thing’s for sure: the cop is gone as soon as he gets his hands on a can of spray paint. The image of a dead cop is not a fight he wants to start. 

Ruffling a hand through his hair, Hoseok scribbles in the sketch pad and sighs. Jungkook is God-knows-where. More than likely inside the café, hitting on whoever they came here to see. The man was too embarrassed to say, but forced Hoseok to come along anyway. It was cute seeing him all nervous for once, stubbing his smoke out on the pavement and anxiously smoothing his hair down. 

Hoseok sips his sugared-up coffee. At least Jungkook bought him something to drink for his trouble. 

The green pencil taps rhythmically against his forehead. Where, where, where to begin?

He shouldn’t have worried about it, as it turns out. 

When Hoseok shows up in the alley two days later, the entire wall is white-washed. It’s gone. 

He trips around the side of the warehouse, Jungkook in tow, to check the address, even. Yeah, it’s the right spot. Something like loss is coiling in his ribs. 

Jungkook whistles in surprise but wisely doesn’t say anything.

Even though Hoseok isn’t a fan of the statement the dead cop was making, it shouldn’t have been destroyed like that, never mind that the thought of starting from scratch had briefly crossed his mind. He feels cheated. That art was for him.

“Stupid fucks,” he growls, aiming a kick at the wall. It doesn’t make him feel any better. He wonders if his nemesis came to see the reply only to find a white-washed wall. Does he think Hoseok did it, that they’re done? Is he disappointed?

“What are you gonna do?” Jungkook finally speaks up. He’s fiddling with a cigarette, but hasn’t lit it. Hoseok recognizes that sympathetic glint in his eye, the tilt of his eyebrows. Jungkook’s always been a softie, no matter how much he tries to hide it. 

Hoseok smiles at him, a crooked thing that’s grateful Jungkook’s here with him. He won’t say anything because calling the idiot out on his gooey insides only sticks him with a Jungkook who’s got something to prove. 

A big sigh is therapeutic because his anger deflates in time with his lungs. All that’s left is a fierce-burning determination. “I’m not done with this, not by a long shot,” he assures Jungkook. Already colors and forms are running through his mind, the entire composition convalescing into a vibrant mental image that feels almost real enough to touch. He doesn’t need to sketch it out – it isn’t something he’ll soon forget. 

Hosek turns on a dime to face his friend. He half wants to say, “Get in loser, we’re going shopping,” but he doesn’t have a car and he’d never hear the end of it. 

They are going shopping though. 

A simple jerk of his head is enough to get Jungkook following. As they step out of the alley, he’s already lighting up. 

***

Thirty dollars later (ten of which came from a reluctant Jungkook), and Hoseok’s got the perfect array of colors spread out before him like a centerfold.

“Down boy,” Jungkook mutters, eyeing him.

He thinks he’s a real funny guy. 

“You doin’ this tonight?”

“Yup,” Hoseok answers. He has to get his message up as soon as possible so his nemesis doesn’t think he’s abandoned the game. “Grab a back pack.”

“I’m going with?”

Hoseok knows it’s not actually resistance. The man just feels like he has to say something, like Hoseok’s not bossing him around. Shaking his head, he tosses Jungkook a new pack of cigarettes. They’re caught and tucked away into some pocket or another before Hoseok can even blink.

“Just tell me what to carry,” Jungkook says, grinning and cracking his knuckles. 

Hoseok’s busy packing his new paint into a duffel. “The usual bag.” He can’t contain the excitement in his voice. 

In five minutes, they’re gone. 

***

Morning dawns bright and early on a mural eight feet by twelve. A familiar shadowed skull rests tipped on its cheekbone at the bottom, butted up against the weeds. It’s hollowed out and empty, blues and grays, but its eyes spark with the faintest hint of fire. Flames explode upward, red and orange with delicate touches of purple and green, into the screaming form of a phoenix, beak razor sharp. Fire ripples from wings that are wider than Jungkook is tall, burn the words into the wall: _BORN TO DIE._

Morning light creeps through the windows, slides over a pale face and aching hands tucked on a slim chest. Hoseok turns, mumbling in his sleep, and pulls the covers higher. 

Jungkook sits in shadow at the top of the stairwell, the tip of his cigarette cherry red, and watches the sun come up. 

***

Taehyung pulls his beanie lower as he makes his way to the alley. The frustration of seeing that white-washed wall the day before is still smoldering close to the surface. He doubts it’s the work of his buddy – the city probably caught wind of the shifting warehouse decoration thanks to some asshole “concerned citizen” and sent maintenance workers to clean it up. As if tan blocks of color on a dirty white wall are any better than actual works of art. 

If his buddy doesn’t have the courage to keep up their game (and damn he’d been looking forward to the response to the skeleton cop), then Taehyung is going to carry on by himself. 

He follows a trail of cigarette butts into the alley and has to force himself to look at the empty wall.

Only it’s not empty anymore.

“Holy shit.”

His bag thuds to the cobbles by his feet and Taehyung’s jaw literally drops. 

It’s gorgeous. He steps forward slowly, hands coming up to touch the rising phoenix. The eye is drawn from the head of the bird, down its feathered chest and flaming feet, all the way down and over to the words, which are bolder in black and rusty reds. The purples and blues flicker here and there, accentuating the curves and feathers. It’s a friggin’ masterpiece. 

Fingers trace the curving talons and detailed feathers before Taehyung drops down and laughs aloud, the sound bright and echoing. His skull is there at the bottom. Life from death and _BORN TO DIE_. Of course.

Skipping back, Taehyung cranes his neck to get a view of the whole thing at once. It’s huge. Whichever sick bastard painted this worked for hours, likely last night. God, he probably just missed him!

“Shit,” he breathes, still trying to process the giant mural in front of him. Taehyung just flails a hand at it, both hands, like what the hell am I supposed to do with this?

There’s no way he’s painting over it. No way.

He slowly steps back until he hits the loading dock. It’s easy to pull himself up and sit, staring all the while. His buddy didn’t give up, that’s for sure. He has no intention to end it here, if Taehyung’s reading this right. He came back in a big, big way. Taehyung won’t cover it –he can’t, but somehow he’s gotta let the guy know that he’s still here too. 

He sits for a long time, just looking, finding a new highlight or detail that he didn’t catch before just when he thinks he’s seen everything. 

When it’s finally enough, Taehyung slithers to the ground and unzips his back pack.

***

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Hoseok mutters to himself, practically chewing on his lip. He’s not nervous. 

Yes, he is. 

Jungkook is trailing behind, trying to light his cigarette and walk at the same time and failing at both. He’s two steps from bowling into a trash can before Hoseok tugs him around it. “’M busy here,” is his muttered protest, cig waggling loosely on his bottom lip. 

Hoseok ignores him. It’s been a day and the alley is just ahead. It might be too soon for anything to have happened, but Hoseok is way too restless to wait any longer. When they finally turns the corner (after making a face at the collection of butts that surely came from his tagalong), he clenches his eyes shut. He gives himself a five-count before he opens them again.

Hoseok endures a split second of disappointment before his eyes actually begin to work. His phoenix is intact, still clawing toward the sky, as are the words _BORN TO DIE_. 

“Huh,” is Jungkook’s contribution. 

The empty spaces behind and around Hoseok’s work, where he didn’t have time to fill in beyond basic colors, are now filled in and textured. A towering glacier rises up behind the bird, almost to the top of the whole damn building, edges melting and reflecting the orange of the flames. The water trickles down to the skull where it pools, submerging the grinning face up to the eye sockets. The pool and glacier are surrounded by lush tropical plants in more shades of green than Hoseok knew existed, teeming with life. 

“Where d’ya think he found a ladder?”

The lack of change to the original work is almost enough to have Hoseok believe that some other writer stumbled upon their little game of tag and decided to contribute. He doesn’t think that for long. The line work, style, and colors used, particularly those cool blues and the eye-popping highlights mean that his nemesis is still playing, but the game has changed.

And Hoseok doesn’t know what to do.

Because his work may be good, but with the additions from the other guy, this mural easily moves up to “frame that shit and sell it” good. No way he’s gonna bust that up. 

“Fuck me,” Hoseok groans, looking up like the answer’s in the sky just waiting for him to find it. 

Him and Jungkook stare in silence for a few minutes, at the mural and at each other.

“…wuzzat?” a new voice mumbles from behind them, breaking the silence but sounding half asleep. 

Hoseok and Jungkook spin around. It takes some squinting into the dark shadows cutting across the loading dock behind them, but they’re finally able to make out a figure lying up against the wall. It moves and Hoseok thinks for a minute that it’s someone homeless who found a place with a roof to camp out for the day. The man pushes himself up and tugs on a hat before stepping to the end of the dock. He’s wearing a stained black jacket and as he looks down at them, Hoseok knows the man is about his height, with sharp eyes and a bag full of hardware store paint. 

“Fuck me,” he says again. 

Taehyung laughs. “So you’re the guy!”

He hops from the dock in an easy movement and beams at Hoseok. “Man, that shit’s amazing! Like we’re talking, I dunno, some kind of badass Van Gogh. I was hoping you’d show up!”

Hoseok is a little taken aback by his enthusiasm, but he does his best to muster up a reply. “Thanks. Your pieces are great too. First I was really pissed, you know, but then it got really fun wondering what would come next.” He glances over at the place where Taehyung was sleeping. “Were you really waiting around for me?”

“Sure was. Today’s my day off.” And that’s something Taehyung can say with a straight face, totally unembarrassed, much to Hoseok’s astonishment. 

“Really,” Hoseok says, feeling the need to turn away. Is this what horrific embarrassment feels like? He runs a hand over a tree draped in life-like vines. “This is amazing. The colors here and here,” he jumps from one side to the other, pointing. Somehow he can’t make himself shut up. “And god, how do you do those highlights? I don’t even-“

“That’s what I thought when I saw your phoenix this morning!” Taehyung butts in, grinning wildly and rocking onto his tiptoes to try and pat the bird’s beak. “The way you structures the whole piece and the depth below the wings. How did you recreate my skull almost exactly? It’s just, ah!” He’s all kinds of delighted. 

Jungkook flicks his cigarette butt to the cement and crushes it with a shoe. “God, get a room,” he grouches, patting his pockets for a lighter. Another smoke is already in his mouth. 

“You’re gonna die before you hit 25. Chain smoking grandmas don’t get an opinion,” Hoseok retorts, flipping him off. 

“Aww, he’s just jealous,” Taehyung says, clearly amused. He turns to Hoseok. “So, I was thinking,”

“Dangerous,” Jungkook mumbles. 

“That if we’re amazing by ourselves, and who am I kidding, just look at this,” Taehyung gestures to the wall. “Then we’re ten times more amazing together.” He points to the wall again, but gestures wider to encompass the whole thing.

A grin splits Hoseok’s face. Oh, he can see it now: entire walls done in a night, running from the cops, stealing each other’s colors, harassing Jungkook about his mysterious crush. 

“Partners?” he asks, holding out a hand.

“Partners,” Taehyung agrees, grabbing it tightly and shaking vigorously. 

Jungkook just sighs out a lungful of smoke and takes another drag. 

 

***BONUS SCENE***

“This is physically painful,” Namjoon mourns, pulling on the strap of his gray overalls. The paint bucket and roller beside him agree silently, the sad group of them staring up at the warehouse wall. 

Heaving a beleaguered sigh, he pops the cap off, slugs some beige house paint into the tray, and dejectedly wets his paint roller. “It’s my community service,” he mutters under his breath like a mantra. “I have to do this, it’s my community service. I don’t want to go to jail. Community service. Community service.”

Right before the roller touches the first letter of “PRETENDERS,” an idea hits him so hard he almost sees stars. The roller drops to the ground and Namjoon doesn’t care if it gets covered in leaves and dirt and dead bugs or whatever. He skips back, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his embarrassing painter’s overalls. 

“At least it won’t be totally gone.” And god, his habit of talking to himself is getting out of control. Five or six pictures later (a mix of close-ups and shots of the whole mural, both the words and the cop), Namjoon returns to his roller. Mentally praying for forgiveness from the awesome bastard who created the art, he rolls the first stripe of tan paint over the skull.

“Community service. I’m sorry. Community service. Community service.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [tumblr](http://awful-aus.tumblr.com/post/125477134152/have-some-aus)


End file.
